


Dreamer Go On

by Pixiixixii



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiixixii/pseuds/Pixiixixii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has always had a guardian angel. Castiel was the one who protected Dean, and who befriended him when he had no one else. As Dean grew up, his feelings for Castiel grew until they blossomed into a much more intimate kind of love. This relationship, though, left little room for Sam. Excluded and lonely, Sam fled to college, his decision later leaving Dean with something he never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamer Go On

Mary's lips spread into a knowing smile as she gazed at the angel figurine. Her hand drifted to her rounded belly.

"It's okay, baby,” she murmured. “It's all okay. Angels are watching over you."

* * *

There was commotion outside. Dean slipped from his big-boy bed, his bare feet hardly making a sound as they hit the floor.

He made his way to the hall, being careful not to step on any toys. If he didn't break them, when Sammy got older, they could play together.

What Dean saw outside his room was scary. Smoke poured through the doorway. Dean's nostrils burned. His baby brother was shoved into his arms. Dean tightened his grip on the small bundle, careful not to drop it.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can," his dad ordered. "Go, Dean, go!"

So Dean went, hurrying out of the house. He stood in the yard, clutching Sam, and watched his house burn.

For an instant, Dean thought he saw a man in a light-colored coat standing beside him. But when he turned, no one was there.

* * *

 Dean took a deep breath, looking over at his little brother. He'd never been left in charge before.

"Whaddaya wanna do, Sammy?" he asked, sitting down next to the teary toddler.

"Daddy," Sam whimpered.

Dean hugged his brother, not sure what else to do. Their dad had gone hunting. He hadn't said when he'd be back, so Dean didn't know what to tell Sam.

"Want to play a game?" Dean suggested.

Sam nodded.

Dean went up to the attic, looking at the boxes of games. He couldn't read the labels, but he did his best to sound them out.

He saw a familiar game: Chutes and Ladders. Dean picked up the box and carried it back downstairs.

When he opened it, though, the normal board wasn't there. Instead, a strange board, covered in letters, lay inside.

"What's that?" Sam asked, sniffling.

"I don't know," Dean answered, lifting it from the box. He had no idea how to play this game.

Dean tried to sound out the letters at the top of the board. "O-U-I-J-A," he read. "Ou...ih...ja."

Sam picked up the planchette. "How do you play?"

Dean shook his head. "Maybe you spell words."

"But I don't know how to spell words," Sam said sadly. He looked close to tears again.

"No, don't cry," Dean said quickly. "I'll teach you!"

Sam sniffled again, watching as Dean put his hands on the triangular piece. "What word should we spell, Sammy?"

Sam put his hands on top of Dean's, looking up at his brother for approval. Dean nodded.

"Sam?" Sam requested.

"Sure," Dean replied, starting to spell it out. "S-A-M."

Sam watched it move. "Sammy?"

Dean nodded, continuing "M-" but then something went wrong. Instead of moving to the letter Y, his hands moved to the letter D.

"Is that my name?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean answered, as the planchette traveled to I, then E. "Die?"

"Die?" Sam repeated. "What?"

The lights flickered. The temperature dropped. Dean froze. "Who's there?"

There was a creaking sound behind him. Slowly, terrified, Dean turned.

A pale figure was advancing, face partially rotted away, dead eyes bulging. Its clothes were ragged, stained with blood, gnarled fingers stretching towards Dean.

Dean couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. The figure was nearly on top of him.

And then he was dragged out of the way. Dean crumpled, watching in disbelief as a man in an oversized trench coat strode towards the monster. It vanished.

The man turned around. Dean didn't recognize him.

Furiously, he demanded, "What were you thinking?"

"What?" Dean asked blankly, suddenly remembering his brother. He scooted over to hug Sam tightly.

"Why would you summon a spirit?"

Dean just stared at him. He had no idea what the man was talking about.

The stranger shook his head, pacing the room. "I barely got here in time. If I hadn't..."

Sam was quivering. Dean stared up at the man. "Tell Sammy everything's going to be okay."

"I cannot promise that-" the man halted upon seeing Dean's expression. "I... everything's going to be okay," he said in an extremely unconvincing tone.

Dean nodded. Moments later, though, the man gestured for him to step away from Sam. Dean hesitated, then complied.

"What is the purpose of lying?" the man asked.

"To make Sammy feel better."

His expression was utterly lost. "Why is that necessary?"

Dean shook his head, turning away. "It just is. C'mon, Sammy. You want to play a different game?"

Sam shook his head. "I hate games." His voice was hardly audible as he added, "I'm scared."

"You're fine," Dean promised. He hugged the small boy tightly. "I won't let anything happen to you.

"You should be safe now," the man said. There was a fluttering sound. When Dean turned to answer, the man was gone.

* * *

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, fighting back tears. His dad had promised that he’d come home for Dean’s ninth birthday, but the day was nearly over. There was less than an hour left, and there’d been no sign of him.

Sam was asleep, breathing softly. He’d tried to help Dean have a good birthday, but it wasn’t the same.

Dean still hoped that his dad would show up, but as the minutes ticked by, his anticipation faded. Every time a car drove by, Dean looked up hopefully. But it was never his dad.

The clock struck midnight. Dean buried his face in his pillow to hide his tears. His bed creaked as someone sat down beside him.

Dean looked up, tears blurring the figure. “Dad?”

But the voice that answered him wasn’t his dad. It was familiar, though Dean couldn’t place it.

“No, Dean.”

Oddly enough, Dean wasn’t frightened by this strange man. He didn’t run to protect Sam or grab the gun that lay beside his bed. Instead, feeling sad and vulnerable, he rested his head against the man’s shoulder.

The man stiffened. Eventually, though, he began to relax, his arm drifting over to encircle Dean. Within seconds, Dean was asleep.

When he awoke, he was tucked into bed. There was no sign of his visitor.

* * *

Dean stared at the wall, bored and lonely. Sam was at the library, as he nearly always was. Dean didn’t see what his brother found interesting about a bunch of books. He preferred girls.

There was a flapping sound behind him. Dean turned sharply, grabbing for the nearest weapon. He froze when he saw the man in the oversized trench coat. It had been years since they’d last met.

“I thought I’d imagined you,” Dean said, uncertainty edging his voice.

The man shook his head. “No, Dean. You didn’t imagine me.”

“Who are you?” Dean demanded. “How do you know me?” His grip tightened on the letter-opened he’d grabbed.

Unflinchingly the man responded, “My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Dean let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Yeah, and I’m one of Santa’s elves.”

Castiel looked at him in surprise. “Really? I had no idea. Your mother didn’t mention that when she-”

“When she what?” Dean interrupted, straightening up at the mention of his mom.

“She asked me to protect you,” Castiel answered.

Dean’s eyes widened. “She did?”

Castiel nodded. “When she learned that she was pregnant with you, she knew that a dangerous future was coming. I swore to keep you safe.”

“What did she know?” Dean asked, his voice faint.

“I’m not sure that I’m supposed to say,” the angel told him. Dean glared, but Castiel appeared unaffected.

“Why are you here?” Dean finally asked. “Am I in danger?”

“Loneliness can be difficult,” Castiel said. “You seem very sad.”

Dean just shrugged. He wasn’t into spilling his feelings to strangers. Or to anyone, really.

“I’m here to offer you companionship,” Castiel explained awkwardly.

“Well, thanks,” Dean said. “But I don’t…” he stopped. He really was lonely. Sam had been gone a lot lately, and even when he was around, they didn’t talk much. “Okay, sure.” If he turned out to be a monster, Dean could always kill him.

Castiel walked over until he was uncomfortably close to Dean.

“Dude,” Dean said, backing up. “Personal space?”

The angel frowned, taking a step away as well. “My apologies.”

Dean shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into. “So angels are real?” he asked.

Castiel let out what seemed to be an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Dean.”

“Weird,” Dean said. “I didn’t think that part of the lore was actually true.”

“Everything’s true, Dean,” Castiel answered. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Dean shrugged. He’d been on many hunts and killed all kinds of creatures, but he’d never heard of a real angel. He was still suspicious.

Castiel frowned. “You don’t believe me?”

Dean shook his head, and the angel took a few steps back. The lamps in the room flickered, the bulbs shattering, the blinds falling.

Through the darkness, Dean could see the outline of wings sprouting from Castiel. The letter opener he’d opened slowly dropped to his side.

“Wow,” Dean muttered.

The angel glanced over at the blinds, which rolled themselves back up. Light poured into the room, which was filled with shattered glass.

Dean grimaced. “You wanna fix all that, too?”

To Dean’s surprise, the glass formed a pile in the center of the room. Dean pointed to the trash can, and it all dropped in.

“Thanks,” he said. “Saves me some blood.”

The angel looked at him in confusion. Dean just shook his head. “Never mind.”

Castiel frowned. “I’ve got to go.” Before Dean could respond, he disappeared.

* * *

Dean took a bite of his pasta. It was one of the only things he knew how to make, and he and Sam had been eating it for a week straight. “How was school?” he asked.

Sam just shrugged, not looking up from his plate.

“Did something happen?” Dean asked, frowning.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Sam muttered.

Dean straightened up. “Something happened. Who hurt you, Sammy? I’ll make ‘em-”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it,” Sam snapped, glaring at Dean. He stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. “I don’t know what your problem is. It’s like you think you’re my dad. You’re not my dad.”

Dean just sat there as Sam stormed out of the room. He didn’t know what to say. Something, deep inside, felt like it had been shattered.

“Sammy,” he called weakly, half-rising from his chair. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Dean looked up into the face of Castiel.

“Let him go,” Castiel said.

“What’s he so pissy for?” Dean asked. “Is he turning into a girl or something?”

Confusion was evident on the angel’s face. Dean rolled his eyes. “You know what, never mind.”

“I don’t understand-”

“Do angels not have a sense of humor, or is that just you?”

Castiel looked even more lost. Dean shook his head. “All right. So why’re you here now?”

The angel shrugged.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be my guardian angel or something. Don’t you have to come to protect me?”

Castiel shrugged again.

“Am I in danger?” Dean asked.

“No,” Castiel answered. “I don’t think so.”

“So you’re just here to visit?”

Castiel nodded.

“All right,” Dean answered. He paused. “Has Sammy ever met you?”

“No,” Castiel answered.

“You can do that later,” Dean decided. “After Sammy’s had some time to cool off.”

Castiel nodded.

Dean headed into the living room and sat down on the couch, his fifteen-year-old legs longer than he was used to. He almost fell on the floor in the process of sitting.

The angel didn’t laugh.

“I like you,” Dean decided.

“Thank you,” Castiel answered. He sat down beside Dean, leaving about two inches between them.

Dean glanced over, eyebrow raised, but he didn’t comment. He turned back to the TV, watching whatever was on.

There was a flapping sound. Dean looked to his right. Castiel was gone.

* * *

Castiel had become something of a regular visitor. He tended to show up in random places, so when Dean stepped out of the shower and saw Castiel, he wasn’t particularly surprised.

“Dude, here? Really?” Dean demanded, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

Castiel’s eyes lingered longer than they should have. “I’ll wait outside.”

A variety of feelings coursed through Dean as the angel exited the bathroom. Butterflies flapped around in his stomach. His face felt hot. He started feeling something underneath his towel.

Stop it, he ordered himself. Think… think naked old grandmas.

To his relief, it worked and he was able to get dressed. Soon, Dean emerged from the bathroom to find Castiel waiting right outside.

“‘Sup, Cas?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall. He had just surpassed the angel in height, and had to lean at a slight angle to see him eye-to-eye. “How’s Heaven?”

“Heaven’s fine,” Cas answered.

Dean’s hope faded. For a few wonderful moments, he’d thought that Cas might actually share his feelings. But Cas was acting as distant as ever.

“Why’d you come?” Dean tried.

Cas just shrugged. “I came to visit.”

Dean let out a sigh, giving up on trying to get Cas to admit anything. He’d probably just imagined the angel checking him out.

“You’re just in time for lunch, Cas,” Dean said, turning and heading towards the kitchen. “Sammy, lunch!”

Sam emerged from his room a few minutes later, taking a seat at the table and gazing sullenly at Dean and Cas.

Dean frowned at his brother. He’d only been getting worse. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

“He’s too old for you,” Sam muttered. He pushed away his untouched plate of pasta and left the room.

Dean looked at Cas, cheeks burning. “I-” he began, but the angel had disappeared.

“Thanks a lot, Sam,” Dean yelled. He slammed the cupboards as he dumped the pasta in the trash. “You can make your own lunch!”

* * *

Cas hadn’t returned for more than a month, leading Dean to think that he might never come back. Dean’s relationship with Sam stayed about the same. Their dad came home for a few days, then left again. Dean was horribly lonely.

Dean was sharpening knives when he heard something behind him. He whirled, knife raised.

“Dammit, Cas,” he exclaimed. “I almost stabbed you!” Relief coursed through him, both at the sight of his angel, and because he hadn’t actually stabbed him.

“Dean,” Cas said.

Dean frowned. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Cas answered, his tone serious.

“About?” Could Cas share his feelings after all?

“Well, Dean…” Excitement coursed through Dean’s body. He could hardly wait to hear what Cas would say.

“I felt like I was causing problems between you and Sam, so I decided to visit less frequently.”

Dean’s heart sank. He turned back to the sink, trying to hide his disappointment. “Oh.”

“How are things?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged, halfheartedly continuing to sharpen the knife he held.

“Has my absence improved your relationship?”

Dean turned. “No, Cas, it hasn’t,” he snapped. “You being gone hasn’t changed anything.” Except I missed you, he thought gloomily.

“Oh,” Cas said. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then disappeared.

Dean looked at the knife in his hand, then dropped it and slammed his fist into a wall. Pain erupted across his knuckles. He didn’t care.

* * *

Cas visited more frequently after that. Years of sexual tension passed, filled with Dean struggling to hide his feelings for Cas, Cas not noticing, and Sam practically living at the library.

Sam’s fifteenth birthday came along. Their dad, of course, wasn’t home. Dean bought a cake, which was waiting on the table when Sam returned from school.

Sam took one look at the angel standing beside Dean and threw his backpack on the ground. He glared at the two, his hands balled into fists. “Why do you always have to be with him, Dean?” he demanded. “Why can’t it just be us? Why does there always have to be an angel in the way?”

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam didn’t let him speak. “Oh, yeah. I know why. Because you’re madly in love with him.” Sam turned to Cas. “Yeah, that’s right. He’s been in love with you since he was my age. He doesn’t care about me anymore. He only cares about you.”

Sam grabbed his bag and stormed out of the room. For a few moments, Dean was speechless. Then, he realized what Sam had just told Cas. Cheeks flaming, he looked over at the angel.

Cas was staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“I… sorry,” Dean mumbled, looking down at his feet. He didn’t want to see Cas’s face when the angel realized what Sam had said and rejected him.

But as time passed, Dean slowly gathered his courage and looked back at Cas. He was braced for disappointment, for rejection, as he met Castiel’s eyes.

He hadn’t expected what he saw. Cas was smiling.

Dean considered the possible implications of what he wanted to do, then decided he didn’t care. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the angel’s.

Cas froze. Dean pulled away, instantly regretting his decision. He must have misjudged Cas. Maybe Cas thought Sam was making a joke…

...but he sincerely doubted that Cas had a sense of humor. He’d known the angel for years, and Cas had never shown any sign that he might have one.

But then Cas smiled, gazing up at Dean with adoration in his eyes. Relief coursed through Dean. He hadn’t ruined everything.

Dean brushed his lips against Cas’s again, years of suppressed emotions spilling over into pure joy that this moment had finally come. He nibbled at the angel’s ear, kissing his collarbone, making his way up Cas’s neck to his lips. His hands slid inside the oversized trench coat that Cas never took off.

Cas responded enthusiastically, tugging Dean closer to him. His hands roamed Dean’s back, sliding beneath his shirt. Dean let out what was most definitely not a very masculine moan.

That’s when Sam walked in, slamming the door behind him. Dean leaped away from Cas, rushing to adjust his clothes as his brother gaped at him.

“I guess this makes me officially unimportant,” Sam muttered. “I was gonna come apologize. But now…” he shook his head, turning and leaving the room again.

“Sammy, wait,” Dean called, starting after him. But Sam slammed the door to his room. Dean heard the lock click.

After a moment, warm arms wrapped around him. Dean leaned back against Cas, closing his eyes. He felt horribly guilty about what was happening with Sam, but at the same time, things just felt so right.

* * *

“Happy anniversary, Cas,” Dean said, pushing the angel against a wall before kissing him fiercely. Cas kissed him back, quickly reversing their positions so that Dean was the one against the wall.

Dean’s lips parted, allowing Cas’s tongue to explore his mouth. He tugged off Cas’s coat, then fumbled blindly with the buttons on his shirt.

Cas withdrew his tongue, pulling away so that he could explore other parts of Dean. He began at Dean’s earlobe and made his way down, until he reached the collar of Dean’t t-shirt.

Cas shrugged out of his own unbuttoned shirt before pulling Dean’s over his head. Once that was over with, Dean’s hands explored Cas’s toned chest as Cas kissed his way further down. His tongue swirled around Dean’s nipples, his hand cupping the prominent bulge in Dean’s jeans. Dean let out a soft moan.

Cas stood up, his hands moving to cup Dean’s ass as he kissed his lips once more. In the year they’d been together, Cas had gotten much better at this sort of thing. Dean hardly recognized him as the awkward, nervous angel he’d once been.

Of course, he was still awkward most of the time. But when it was just the two of them, apart from his negligible sense of humor, Cas had vastly improved.

Cas sat down on the bed, tugging Dean along with him. Their hands roamed as they shared kiss after kiss, until they ended up just lying on the bed, Dean wrapped in Cas’s arms.

Dean wasn’t one to act soft. At least, that’s what he told himself. But there was something about being held, not being the dominant one, that was so much better than all his previous flings.

This wasn’t a fling, though. Dean never would’ve expected a long-term relationship to happen, particularly with someone who wasn’t even human, but it had. He and Cas had been together a year, and were still going strong. He never wanted it to end.

* * *

“This is us,” Dean said, pointing to three folding chairs. He glanced around as he took his seat, but there weren’t any familiar faces in the crowd. “I hope Dad gets here in time.”

Cas nodded absentmindedly. “So why can’t we hold hands?”

“Dad doesn’t know we’re together,” Dean answered in a low voice. “He’d probably never speak to me again if he found out. I’m not sure. Sorry, Cas. But he’ll be gone again soon,” he added as an afterthought.

Cas sighed. “Okay.”

The graduation ceremony soon started. The school was small, only a few hundred students, but it still felt like hours passed before they finally called Sam’s name. Dean watched proudly as Sam climbed onto the stage, taking his diploma. He cheered loudly enough that he was sure Sam could hear him, but Sam didn’t turn.

To Dean’s surprise, Sam was the valedictorian. He watched as Sam stepped up, beginning to speak about the importance of working to achieve one’s dreams.

Dean was hurt. Sam hadn’t mentioned that he was valedictorian. He was proud of his brother, but wished that he’d known sooner.

As Sam spoke about the importance of support and friendship, Dean felt continually worse. Sam sounded like he was using their poor relationship as examples of what not to do.

Eventually, the ceremony came to an end. Dean led Cas through the crowd, grabbing Sam and hugging him tightly. But Sam just pushed him away.

“Sammy-” Dean began, but Sam had already turned to talk to someone else.

Cas looked like he was going to grab Dean’s hand, but he took his arm instead. He led Dean back through the crowd. As they stepped into the parking lot, the Impala pulled up. John rolled down the window. “Did I get here in time?”

“No,” Dean answered. He was furious with his dad. He was angry that Sam felt so alone, and even though he blamed himself, he also found some of the fault in John. “You missed it.”

John frowned. “Oh. Too bad.”

John’s nonchalant attitude made Dean even angrier, but he couldn’t make himself yell at his dad. He couldn’t even make himself stand up to him. There were few people Dean feared, but he was terrified of John.

“Sam doing well, then?” John asked.

That hurt. John hadn’t asked about Dean, instead jumping straight to Sam. But Dean was used to it. “He… yeah. He’s fine.”

“Good,” John said. “I don’t have time to stop at home. Tell him he did good, okay?” He rolled up the window and drove off, not even saying goodbye.

Dean watched him go, anger and hurt boiling inside him. His dad had never said anything like that to him. It was always to Sam. Only Sam.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, watching the Impala drive over a hill until it disappeared from view. “I’ll tell him.”

* * *

Dean had been working on the old junker that he called his car, trying to keep it from falling apart for as long as possible. Cas was helping as best he could: handing Dean tools whenever he needed them.

“Dean,” Sam called.

Dean was so surprised that Sam was speaking to him that he bashed his head into the rim as he tried to get out from under it. Sam was dressed in his nicest clothes, his hair neatly combed. He held a suitcase.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked.

“I’m going to college,” Sam said simply.

Dean gaped at him. “You what?”

“My ride should be here in a few minutes,” Sam said. “I don’t want to live like this anymore, Dean. I don’t want to be a Hunter. This is my chance to get out.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed. He didn’t know what to say.

But before Sam’s ride could arrive, a different car pulled up. This one was a ‘67 Chevy Impala, and as the roar of the engine faded, fear grew in Dean’s chest.

John stepped out of the car. His expression was furious, his voice calm but deadly. “Where do you think you’re going, Sam?”

“I’m going to college,” Sam replied, not seeming intimidated by his father’s rage.

“No,” John answered. “You’re not going to college. You’re going to stay here, you’re going to Hunt, and you’re going to help me find your mom’s killer.”

A second car pulled up to the curb. Sam started towards it, stowing his suitcase in the trunk before he turned around.

“I don’t want to be a Hunter,” he said again. “This isn’t the right life for me.”

“Fine, then,” John said in that same calm tone. “But don’t you dare come back. I don’t want to hear from you ever again.” His voice rose until he was shouting. “Don’t ever come back!”

Sam climbed into the car, which drove off. “Sammy,” Dean said weakly as he watched his brother go, reality not yet sinking in. Sam couldn’t actually have left.

John stormed into the house without looking at Dean. As usual.

Seconds later, it hit him. Dean sank back against his rusty old car, feeling like he was going to break apart. Sam was gone. His little brother had left him.

Not caring who saw, Dean reached for Cas. There were very few times he was vulnerable like this. He couldn’t remember the last time. But as a single tear slid down his cheek, Dean leaned his head against Cas’s shoulder. His eyes followed the distant car until it turned a corner and was gone.

It felt like Sam had taken a part of Dean with him. Dean’s throat ached with tears he refused to shed. He felt like his whole world was falling apart. He didn’t have friends. He moved around too much for that. His dad didn’t care about him. Castiel was the only one he had left.

“It’ll be okay, Dean,” Cas said quietly, holding Dean him in a gentle embrace. The words he spoke softly in Dean’s ear were surprisingly comforting. “You can go on.”


End file.
